Read the title. I didn't lose the SAT and I didn't just barely pass it either. I won it. People with a score
below 1600 (now 2400) probably won't understand the concept of winning the SAT. However, I invite you, regardless of whether
you have a W or an L in your SAT column to come and see the world through the eyes of a SAT winner.

I am Under No Obligation to Explain Why There Are so Many Cuts and Bruises On My Face

Look, I'm just trying to do my job here. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to collating the invoices you had asked me to sort three days ago.

I have no obligation to explain to you how this cauliflower ear developed, where these bandages on my head came from, or why it looks like I was stabbed repeatedly in the face.

The fact is, it's none of your business how my skull was fractured or why I have eyeballs painted onto my eyelids because I can't open my eyes and I'm trying to look normal.

Was I drunk?? How dare you! Get out of my cubicle! I don't have time to tell you about the minutiae that goes of my life. If I don't have these documents stapled by 5 o'clock, the office manager is going to be pissed.

Stop asking me! Do I ask you the same stupid question 50 million times a day??? I can't work like this!!!

I thought to myself, "This will surely fill the void inside me," as I waited in line to purchase Nintendogs for the GameBoy DS at Nintendo World in Rockefeller Center.

I raced home and powered up the game. I decided to select a beautiful Beagle named Buster as the dog I would raise.

I brought him back home, and gently stroked him with the stylus. I felt a strong connection almost immediately--a bond that I knew instinctively, would span the annals of eternity. This dog is what I've been waiting my whole life for.

"There, there, Buster," I said assuredly. I leaned closer, and spoke into the system's microphone, "As your trainer, I pledge to you that together, we will overcome impossible odds. We will find truth where there is only falseness, meaning within the most unintelligible of sentences, and bring rays of piercing light to places where sun don't shine."

A red question mark appeared above Buster's head. He sat there and stared at me.

"My dearest friend, perhaps you didn't understand me, I pledge..." and I repeated my urgent message, emboldened by this puppy's thirst to drink from my deep well of knowledge. I continued raving into the mic using impassioned phrases and quotes from our nation's greatest leaders.

The red question mark appeared again above the dog's head. He retreated to the other side of our house and began licking himself.

"Buster, was I boring you?"

He raced back to the front of the screen, "Arf arf!"

"I see. Are you saying you don't agree with my ideals?

"Arf arf!"

"You don't want to share your life with me?"

"Arf arf!"

"And by this you mean you wish you'd never been brought into this virtual world?"

"Arf arf arf!!!!"

I let out a primal howl. "Oh God! Why do you torture me so!" With a trembling hand I ripped the game out of the system and threw it at a nearby wall.

As the 80's skater poseurs and the urban subversion poseurs surrounded Brady and I--all of whom were hooting, hollering, and whipping heavy chains in the air--one thought went through my mind.

I wonder if they'd take me shopping with them next time? I need some new duds.

The 10 year old hipster continued his verbal assault on their lack of leadership skills.

"Fuck you, poseurs! You need to learn how to stop being poseurs!"

"How we gonna do that, snoop doggy dogg hogg and frog?" replied one of the urban subversion poseurs with an extraneously long skull cap that went down to his ankles. He whipped his heavy chain at Brady's empty cup of Dippin' Dots. He missed by a few feet and almost struck a feral Park Slope baby. The baby scamped away.

"My friend Nate will show you how!!" declared Brady.

"Oh, no, don't get me involved," I said aghast, as I fumbled in my pocket for my pepper spray keychain. Perhaps if I shoot Brady in the face with an aqueous burst of concentrated cayenne powder, he will be unable to drag me into this beating we are about to receive.

Brady continued, "He won the SAT. He's a gifted genius—the REAL DEAL. Totally not a poseur! Show 'em, Nate. Show 'em all you know!"

He has a point.

"Come on, smarty pants! Why don't you show us how to be cool, Mr. Cool?" ranted a voice from the incensed crowd.

"Fine." I waved my hand like a wand across the rabid maniacs. "First, you must put down your bags of Fritos."

"What are we gonna eat?" a skater howled, "He's trying to starve us!"

"Next, you must stop talking about your Fantasy Football teams."

"But... but!" they all whimpered in unison.

"And finally. You must all take up jelqing--the all natural male enhancement."

I performed a demonstration on jelqing before the transfixed audience.

*CLUNK*

*CLUNK CLUNK*

*POOP*

One by one, the heavy chains the poseurs were going to maim us with, dropped to the pavement. The stunned, silenced mob began to disperse. The crises was diffused!

"I did it! I did it! I stopped the angry mob," I yelled out. "High five! Brady, give me a high five. Where'd you go. Hey! Where's everybody going?" I pulled up my pants, "Hey, wait for me! You all think I'm cool, right? Guys???"

Attention Human Resources! I Could Totally Be the White Guy in Your Next Multi-Ethnic Advertising Campaign

Attention Human Resources!

Are you seeking a bold and dynamic white man for your next multi-ethnic advertising campaign? Your search is over, child.

My skin tone and average looks will blandly compliment the skin tones and average looks of people from all races: Native Indians, Orientals, Hasidics, Latinos, Lezzies--even Black People!

But you're probably thinking, "I wonder how this white guy will take next to a retard or some cripple?" I beg you to stick me next to a retard--gosh! that would be a dream come true!--and you'll see exactly what I'm capable of!

Advertising executives choose me to be their token white guy because I emote a commercial vibe that says to white people, "Now that's a white man I could probably trust--maybe. But not with my kids," and I appeal to non-whites in a way that screams, "Ooooohhhhhh!!! I HATE WHITE PEOPLE!!!! HOW CAN I DEFACE THIS?!?!?!" All races can connect and react to me.

Sir or madam, enclosed is my modeling portfolio. I implore you to peruse my high resolution photos and choose me for your next multi-ethnic advertising campaign. Blanket my nonthreatening averageness across this great city!

I'm so furious! I'm filled with rage! GRRRR! I spent 200 dollars on a pair of distressed designer jeans--and look at what happens! See--right next to the fake rips are ACTUAL rips. I've only washed them a couple times and they're totally falling apart.

The aloof salesperson at Bloomie's assured me the denim I was purchasing came from the earth's most endangered strains of cotton. The holes were laboriously placed using technological breakthroughs pioneered by Guatemalans making 8 cents per hour. I spent so much money on them! Gosh, the actual tears in my pants make it look like I've been wearing shitty jeans I'd wear to a motorcycle parade, not awesome distressed designer jeans I'd wear to go clubbing.

Thank you for all your letters and emails wondering where I've been. I was in New Orleans on vacation, when all of a sudden, an enormous hurricane came and washed me out to sea! Just kidding! ROFL LMAO! I've been here the whole time. But, I have been doing extensive research to find out this season's HOTTEST hurricane names and I published them over at HOTTEST BABY NAMES. If you don't know what to name your next hurricane, this is the ONLY guide you'll ever need!

Get the fuck outta the way Mrs. Beecher-Stowe! I've been reading The Known World, and I can enthusiastically say, it is THE MOST THRILLING SLAVERY NOVEL EVER WRITTEN.

If you love slavery novels like I do, The Known World is a surefire hit. If this doesn't ramrod right to #1 on your personal Top 10 Slavery Faves of All Time, then your slavery palate is clearly underdeveloped. Maybe you need to enroll in Slavery 101.

I'm only 40 pages or so into it, but already, I can just tell. This exhilarating portrait of antebellum 1850's slavery is going to leave me completely sated. My love for slavery fiction is almost as limitless as my need for water or oxygen.

Run to your nearest slavery-themed bookseller for this chart topping page-turner!

Everyone in New York is saying that Strollercizing is the new Tae-Bo! Anyone can do it. All you need is a baby and a high-end stroller and the will and determination to turn all that fat on your body into lean, hard muscle mass. Try out these new strollercizes to spice up your routine.

Baby Calf Raises – Gently step on your baby using just the tips of your toes. Slowly raise—stretch those calves girl! And repeat.

Stroller Windsprint – Pick two points about 50 yards apart, like a tree and a nearby edge of a cliff. Strap your infant in tightly so he doesn’t get hurt. Then, challenge a fellow strollercizer to race to the edge of the cliff. The first one to go hurtling over wins!

Baby Jumping Jacks – Take two babies, attaching one to each hand with heavy duty twine so the baby stays in one place. Begin jumping and overhand clapping like you’re at a Bon Jovi concert. Do 3 sets of 10. Feel the burn.

Stroller Hurls – Imagine you’re an Olympic discus thrower. Clutch the baby-occupied stroller, spin for added power and acceleration, use that powerful stretch-marked torso and release!

Diaper Cardio Kickboxing – Affix your baby’s soiled diapers to your fists. Grab a partner. Take turns punching each other in the face. Push it to the max!

Remember to wipe down your baby using clean towels after your workout!

Anyways, we are people watching and eating Dippin' Dots--the ice cream of the future--on the stoop of our brownstone when he announces, "Poseur alert!"

"Where?" I shout, craning my neck.

"Over THERE--look at those fucken poseurs," and Brady directs my attention to a gang of suburban white dudes in skull caps across the street. One is drinking 7-Up. One is beckoning another, "Dawg, you gotta listen to my new ringtone—it’s a Top 40 hit on the Billboard Charts right now!" All are decked out in gear from the sales racks of a Midwestern store called Value City.

"THOSE aren't poseurs," I say to my little friend, dismissing his claims. "No no no. These guys over HERE are poseurs!" I point to a nearby syndicate of 35 year old skaters taking turns grinding off the bumper of an abandoned Ford Bronco. They each have asymmetrical hair bangs covering one of their eyes and all are dressed in Pretty Boy Floyd jean jackets. Before each grind attempt, their video camera operator gleefully goes, "Skate or die, dude! Skate or dieeeeee!" Then they try to ollie onto the Bronco and fall down.

"Hey you dirtbag gaywad poseurs!" Brady hollers. All the poseurs stop what they are doing and glare at us. I try to cover Brady's mouth with his cup of Dippin' Dots. What is he thinking? He's going to get us killed!

"How does it feel to be fuckin poseurs?" he continues, in between gulps of the Dots.

The poseurs from the '80s and the urban subversion poseurs filter into a poser posse and begin pressing towards us!

We're not going to play by your rules, Chuck Liddell. You're about to enter my house--THE BLOGTAGON! Prepare to die!!1

Here's how it works:--First, we sit at keyboards. --Then, we start publishing splenetic and acrimonious things with those keyboards about current trends like, "Hamsters--they're so lame!" or "Arab people are the new black people!"--Next, we compulsively refresh our sitemeter stats over and over, peering like bog wraiths into our LCD monitors, straining our eyeballs until our sight is gone forever. --Then, we click on links that other bloggers give us. We do that until our wrists are ravaged with carpal tunnel and our fingers are paralyzed with rheumatism. --Finally, we respond emptily to some reader' emails and go to sleep. --We shall do it again every day until one of us drops dead.

I have been training for over a year. Will you accept, Chuck Liddell??

Tom Shiluley, CEO of Kleenex Inc. states:Before becoming the CEO of Kleenex, I was a VP at Yugo automobiles. Our motto there was, “Let’s polish this turd!” It seems our optimism has spread to other corporations!

Denise Carter, CEO of Bounty Paper Towel Rolls LTD says:This is fantastic news. When I’m on a 1st date with a man at his apartment and I'm unzipping his pants, the last thing I want is to suddenly find out I’m effing someone who wears Old Navy underwear. Now, after he’s done fingering me, but before I’ve rocked his penis, I can excuse myself to use the bathroom and root through his medicine cabinet for Old Navy skin care products. This way, I know up front if I should be bullish or bearish.

Elliot Anderson, CEO of the Brawn Napkin Co. added:My daughter begged me, "Please Daddy, please! Take me to Old Navy." I knew what I had to do. I implicated her in an interglobal accounting fraud scandal and now she's serving the next 8 years in juvie. That should straighten her out.

Marty Fabrizio, CEO of Sam's Choice Bath Tissue LLC underscores:I used to think the two most embarrassing things in the world are being seen flying coach on The Concorde and being spotted carrying a shopping bag from Old Navy. The Concorde hasn't flown since October of 2003, which makes by default, YOU GUESSED IT, carrying a shopping bag from Old Navy the most embarrassing thing in the world.